


Musing

by spirkybubbles



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Character Study, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 13:02:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15752208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spirkybubbles/pseuds/spirkybubbles
Summary: Character studies.





	1. Aylruil Study

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter in a series of character studies for my dnd characters.
> 
> Aylruil Lumos, High elf cleric.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Musings on Aylruil Lumos.

He tastes like peaches and freshly picked blackberries, and he smells sharply of ozone, the strong scent of long-past storms clinging to his flaxen dandelion hair.  
Spun gold always determined to escape from the messy bun he pins it up in with even the faintest movements, it flows freely again.  
Frustrated fingers gather it once more, bundling and fussing with deft fingers, and wind it around like coils of rope before binding it with the thin leather cord. It comes undone again, eventually, but for now satisfaction is his.  
A moon hangs around his neck, heavy yet without burden, and the stars are pooled in his eyes, molten and burning with unspoken desires and dreams, all consuming and silent. A segment of the night sky clings to his soul, and although he worships a deity of the sun, he cherishes both the warmth of day and the blanket of night. Disapproval from his brothers and sisters of the temple never stopped his midnight prayers, nor the silent and solemn walks around the holy grounds. Being proclaimed odd is the least of his worries, and if appreciation of more than one gift brands him as such, so be it. He will not shun the embrace of day, but he will not pretend to not hear the sweet beckoning voice of night. He oh so childishly fears the dark, yet finds solace in the night despite unfounded terrors prodding at the back of his mind all the while.  
His skin is sun kissed, soft and unblemished aside from a few smatterings of faint freckles brushed against his cheeks, and a slivered crescent of white, the ink dulled with time, rests unchanging upon his forehead. It's often subject to the worried crinkle of his brow, for his emotions run high and flow easily.  
Dried mint and crushed lavender line his pockets, and he carries extra medicine and bandages, a watchful eye on his companions for any sign of pain, physical or otherwise.  
Gentle hands remain wrapped in bandages, fingers stained inky black with a permanence he doesn't often care to dwell on. Tainted and impure, the cleric keeps them hidden out of fear. This darkness does not hold the ringing silence of the night that lulls and soothes, only deep despair and the tang of blood pooling in sweaty palms, the sting of choking failure and brutal rejection. An excuse to remove him from the temple, and his greatest shame. His gentle heart remains broken, silent and out of view.  
Flaxen strands brush his shoulderblades once more. It's come undone again, and he slips the leather cord from his golden hair and begins the process of rebinding it.


	2. Lanreth study

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very segmented and disjointed character study of Lanreth Ereoros, my elven bard. 
> 
> (Red Seabury is not mine. Twylem/Twy is not mine.)

He stands at a regretfully short height, regretfully small and regrettfully petite, an unwanted runt of the litter.  
He forces himself to compensate for this with icy eyes and a sharp, silvery tongue that drags out insecurities and lays them bare. He is merciless, and convinces himself that he loves it. He does not, but he hates vulnerability far more.  
Rejected aplenty, he lives his life at a comfortable distance, dark eyes like the skin of belladonna berries watching warily with an unnamed wrath not always entirely directed at their target. Distance is safe, distance is good. Distance keeps the soul and body intact.  
Sourceless pain licks at his scars on colder nights, the skin sensitive and smoother than the rest, shiny and tender, threaded around his neck, suffocating.  
The world weighs on him, the past mocks him, and Lanreth refuses to break.  
However, when his heart begins to warm and his affection blossoms, fear settles heavily in his belly. When night falls, he cowers like a child and once more takes up his long-broken habit of crying silently into his bedroll. His dreams are occupied by the sea, strong hands, and soft carmine hair.  
-  
-  
When warm hands take his and kiss the calloused pads of his fingertips, loving as can be, he tries not to think of the blood that once clung to them and stained his flesh, caking under his fingernails and always drying too quickly, still difficult to wash away yet already far gone.  
He fails, and his thoughts drift, and he sees nothing but warm splatterings of crimson coating the filthy hands of a sinner. When his eyes refocus, he can't meet Red's gaze.  
-  
-  
Silver strands of hair are brushed back and woven together into a thick pearly braid, and his throat tightens as small pink blossoms are tucked into the gaps. The pain he carries with him dulls minutely, and when the small elven girl gives him a questioning gaze - apparently more observant than he gives her credit for - at the sudden dullness in his eyes, his heart aches and his chest rings agonizingly hollow.  
Adjustment is difficult. Luckily his chosen family seems to be patient, or at the very least very skillful at hiding any scorn.  
Twylem smiles, gleeful and proud of her work as the braid is finished, and for a moment he almost forgets the sensation of phantom shackles chafing at his scarred ankles. He finds himself smiling back, if only a little.  
-  
-  
When Twy asks about his tattoos a few days later, he lies and tells her that they're purely decorative and a source of pride. No sense in marring the purity of her mind by speaking the truth, by telling of how truly he wishes to rip the skin from his body and purge the bronzed lines that cover him from head to toe. No sense in it at all.


End file.
